


The Simple Life

by BobSkeleton



Category: The Mighty Boosh (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Growing Up Together, M/M, farm life, happy endings only 2020, mature boosh boys, you might cry but I hope by the end you will smile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:01:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24393196
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BobSkeleton/pseuds/BobSkeleton
Summary: A look at a more mature Howince, with a lot of backstory of how they got there.
Relationships: Howard Moon/Vince Noir
Comments: 25
Kudos: 35
Collections: Bringing Back the Boosh 2020 Fic Exchange





	1. Milk

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bluestocking79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluestocking79/gifts).



> Hoo boy. This was a lot of work, but so gratifying! 
> 
> This gift goes to the absolutely precious [Bluestocking79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bluestocking79/pseuds/Bluestocking79/works), who has done so much for the fandom and has really been there since the beginning, so I felt both honored and tremendously pressured by the opportunity to write for them! I hope that this satisfies the prompt you submitted! 
> 
> Special thanks to my betas, [blackmountainbones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackmountainbones/works) and [A_Little_Boosh_Maid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Little_Boosh_Maid/works) for their help in bringing this to fruition. And thanks to the Shaman Council for organizing this and being generous when I realized, 2 days before the deadline, that I needed to start over and rewrite the whole thing. 
> 
> The title is taken from both the opening quote, as well as the early 00's show where Paris Hilton and Nicole Richie went and lived on a farm. 
> 
> The original prompt: A slice of life featuring more mature, established-relationship Howard and Vince. How have they grown and changed? What does their relationship look like? How have they built a life together?
> 
> Enjoy!

**It is no bad thing to celebrate a simple life.**

**-JRR Tolkien**

* * *

**MILK**

Fresh milk in the pail reminds Howard of Vince’s skin. Howard has never fully shed his cream poet persona, and Vince’s skin is… well, creamy: pale and unblemished, aside from the Nicky Clarke scar, even after all these years. 

Howard carefully works on pasteurizing the milk on the stovetop. Pasteurizing is his job, since the last (and only) time Vince had done it, he’d gotten distracted and the milk boiled over, making a horrid, smelly mess all over the kitchen. However, Eliza, the Guernsey cow, won’t cooperate with Howard the way she does with Vince, so the “Vince milks, Howard sorts it out after” arrangement works out nicely.

All of the animals on the farm like Vince better, except for Bruce the Bastard Goose and Major Tom the Terrier, but that suits Howard just fine. He handles the bees and the honey, the gardening, and most of the cooking. Vince takes care of the animal husbandry, sewing, and tidying, and together, they manage to run a fully-functioning farm. 

Howard’s lips twitch into a smile as his hands work from muscle memory, his mind wandering… Vince remains spry as ever, and trounces around the farm one day in a psychedelic kaftan, in drainpipes and an oversized jumper the next, and the day after that, a custom-painted boiler suit and wellies. Vince’s face hasn’t changed; only the barest whispers of lines crease the corners of his eyes, even after all these years. His face has lost a bit of its angularity, but damned if Vince just doesn’t appear to age. Howard sometimes wonders if Vince sneaked a secret supply of the Fountain of Youth water after their long-ago Xooberonian adventure, but every once in a while, something happens that betrays Vince’s age. For one, his eyesight is getting worse. He’d had to get reading glasses and wept until Howard reminded him that David Bowie and John Lennon had both needed specs to see. This consoled Vince a little, but he still only wore the glasses at night, in bed, when he was reading. And even then, the sight so distracts Howard that little reading gets done at all, in the end. 

Howard feels his years much more viscerally. His hands ache, knuckles growing more swollen and sore with each passing year. His back aches, his shoulder twinges when it rains, and he thinks his face looked like a craggy old walnut. Vince always tells him otherwise, claiming he loved Howard’s wrinkly face and his ancient, arthritic body. Such teasing usually ends with Howard proving how virile he still is, in bed, vigorously. Vince never complains.

Howard remembers the longing, remembers looking at Vince’s skin in the weird, greenish light of the Nabootique, how he _wished_ he could feel and smell and taste it. 

The Nabootique. It feels like ages ago, and yet, in some ways, it feels much closer. Generally, Howard doesn’t like dwelling on the past--after Naboo disappeared on an errand for the Shaman Council, things had been rough. Howard much prefers to look ahead, and even better, has learned to focus on the present. He truly enjoys life now, and takes pleasure in the small, simple moments that make up every day. 

The process of pasteurizing the milk completed, Howard pours the milk into containers before setting them in the refrigerator to cool. He tidies the small kitchen and pads to the living room, selecting a record for some music to accompany him as he goes about the day. 


	2. Records

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard reflects on the day he and Vince left the Nabootique.

**RECORDS**

Howard has always loved the smell of vinyl, and he loves the musty smell of old album covers, too. He always sniffs the record before setting it on the turntable--Vince teases him about it, but Howard has been doing it since childhood and the habit won’t be dropped so easily. Vince and Howard had rebuilt their record collection slowly, piece by piece after it had been destroyed. Howard allows himself to remember the day the police had seized the Nabootique. It was about a week after Naboo had left…

_ The shop and the flat overflowed with the crackling, unresolved tension between Vince and Howard. And not just sexual tension, though there was probably a bit of that, too--hings hadn’t been the same since Howard returned from Denmark. Later, Howard learned how betrayed Vince felt when he left, but at the time, Howard just thought Vince was being a massive twat for no reason. _

_ With Naboo and Bollo gone, there was no buffer between them. Vince and Howard barely spoke, preferring to ignore one another rather than deal with the resentment they were each carrying, neither willing to risk a fight or a blowout while they’d been entrusted to take care of things until Naboo returned.  _

_ Only Naboo didn’t return.  _

_ The days passed in silence--silence became Vince and Howard’s new roommate, and it took up a lot of space.  _

_ On the sixth day after Naboo left, Howard and Vince were on opposite sides of the shop when the door burst open and seven people, four of whom were armed, bombarded their way into the shop. Howard’s first instinct was to assume that he and Vince were victims of a massive heist until he saw the CID and Metropolitan Police badges on the invaders’ uniforms. Vince had shrieked, all veneer of “cool” gone in the face of imminent danger as he ran to Howard’s side, cowering beside the larger man.  _

_ A woman in a dark suit stepped forward and flashed her badge at Vince and Howard. “Patricia Langley, special detective. We’ve been on this case for years.”  _

_ Vince looked utterly confused and terrified. Howard remembered the acrid fear rising in the back of his throat--the detective reminded him of Student Loans. _

_ “What do you want?” Vince whimpered.  _

_ “Which of you is Naboo?” Detective Langley asked. Howard had been unable to speak around the fear in his throat.  _

_ “Neither of us,” said Vince. “I’m Vince, this is Howard. We just work here.”  _

_ The officers were ransacking the shop in their search for evidence, toppling the displays Vince had created and overturning all of Howard’s carefully organized stationery and records. Howard watched in horror as vinyl after vinyl shattered into black fragments on the shop floor. _

_ “We’re going to need to see some identification,” said Detective Langley.  _

_ “Please,” croaked Howard. “I’ve got so much to give.”  _

_ “Do you?” she asked, her interest piqued. “Is there someplace we can… talk?” Howard nearly swooned imagining all the police interrogation scenes from films he’d seen. Vince looked guilty, and led them up the stairs while the officers continued to ransack the Nabootique.  _

_ Vince and Howard answered the detective’s questions for what seemed like ages upstairs in the flat. Eventually, the officers made their way upstairs, too, overturning furniture, invading Vince and Howard’s bedroom, completely destroying Naboo’s room. Vince started crying softly, but Howard was too terrified to do anything but answer questions.  _

_ The detective explained that no rent had been paid in months and furthermore, an alarming amount of drug trafficking had been traced back to the shop. Howard didn’t say it out loud, not wanting to admit to anything, but he’d always suspected the Nabootique was a front for something illegal.  _

_ The detective said a lot of words Howard wouldn’t process until later, but the gist of it was: they had 48 hours to pack whatever hadn’t been confiscated and be out of the building before the government seized it. Naboo, whenever he got back, would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.  _

_ Naboo never came back. _

_ Many horrible, hazy hours after the police left, Vince and Howard stood alone in the wrecked flat, surveying the damage. Vince collapsed on the couch, sniffling and wiping his eyes, but Howard was too angry to be bothered comforting him. What was the point? He’d probably turn around and make some nasty remark to Howard anyway.  _

I never should have come back from Denmark, _ he thought cruelly to himself.  _

_ Howard ignored Vince and trod downstairs, picked his way through the wreckage of the Nabootique, and took a long, long walk through the night.  _

_ When he returned, footsore, heartbroken, and exhausted, Vince was asleep on the couch. Howard found a blanket and draped it over him, then collapsed into his bed, fevered nightmares chasing him through sleep.  _

_ The next day, neither of them bothered to clean up the mess. They did what the detective had told them to do--they packed their things, only the necessary items, and made other arrangements.  _

_ As always, silence accompanied them. They hardly spoke at all. The record player had broken when the police tipped over its stand, so there was no music, either. Each man packed what he could in boxes or suitcases, so wrapped up in their own self-pitying and tragic thoughts that they couldn’t be bothered to come together.  _

_ Around midday, Howard heard Vince on the phone with Leroy, asking if he could crash there for a while.  _

_ What little of Howard’s heart wasn’t in pieces shattered.  _

_ He and Vince weren’t going together, then.  _

_ He knew it. He had known it for ages, ever since he came back from Denmark. Things weren’t the same, and though he’d tried, they hadn’t been able to go back to how it was before. And now, for the first time since childhood, Vince was making plans that didn’t involve Howard.  _

_ He called Lester and asked if he could stay with him until he sorted things out. The old jazz freak agreed happily, glad to have the company of someone his own age. Howard didn’t even bother correcting him.  _

_ On the last day, Vince’s piles of boxes, paintings, and suitcases towered by the stairs. Howard had been ruthless in his packing--he had one suitcase, one box, and his trumpet case. The only sentimental thing he took was a scrapbook Vince had made him back before, when things had been good. By agreement, Howard got the couch and had gotten it, by himself, into the back of the van. Everything else was simply the necessities--clothes, toiletries, a few books.  _

_ It was apparent that Vince would take longer to finish packing and Howard didn’t want to draw things out. He poked his head back into their shared room for the last time.  _

_ “Well,” he said. “I’m off.”  _

_ Vince looked up, his eyes wide in fear. Tears filled them, and Howard wanted to rush in and hug him and beg him to please make it all better, please don’t leave me alone, not now. But Vince turned away, rubbed at his eyes, and when he turned back, old Vince was gone. New Vince just nodded and said, “Oh. Awright then.”  _

_ “Guess I’ll see you around,” said Howard sadly.  _

_ “See you around,” replied Vince. With one look back at the wrecked flat, Howard grabbed his belongings, descended the stairs, and left the Nabootique for the last time, throwing his things in the van and driving off. _

_ Years later, Vince confessed that he’d spent the rest of the day weeping bitterly after Howard was gone, wishing things had turned out differently, and knowing it was his fault but not knowing how to fix it. But then, Howard had no idea.  _

_ That night, for the first time since they’d been teenagers, Vince and Howard fell asleep without the other in the same room. Both cried themselves to sleep on their borrowed sofa beds, and both had nightmares. Neither did anything about it.  _

Shaking himself from his unpleasant memories, Howard slides out the Hendrix record and sets the needle. A good guitar solo never fails to cheer him up. Howard slips into his “garden shoes,” and steps out into the morning air to tend the garden, the music spilling out of the open window. 


	3. Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Howard reminisces about reuniting with Vince, and the comfort of holding hands.

**HANDS**

Between 10:30 and 11 in the morning, Vince and Howard take a break from the morning farm chores to have elevenses. Fresh air and hard work give them both healthy appetites, and the breakfast they swallowed before the sun rose has long ago burnt off. 

Howard uses the wooden dripper to drizzle honey straight from the jar onto his slice of toast. The honey, of course, is Howard’s pride and joy, the fruition of months spent laboring meticulously over his hives. The kitchen smells warm and sweet, like tea and toast and nourishment, and Howard washes his hands at the sink, knowing Vince will be along soon. 

As though summoned by thought alone, the back door slams shut. Vince wipes his feet on the scratchy doormat, and shucks his wellies before stepping onto the tile kitchen floor, mismatched socks on display. Howard smiles to himself at the sight, rinsing the soap from his hands with cool water as he feels Vince’s arms encircle him from behind. Familiar lips press against his cheek as Vince whispers, “Alright, Howard.” 

Howard grins, his whole face crinkling with smile lines. He dries his hands on a flour sack towel, and turns to place a kiss on Vince’s forehead. In his socks, Vince is delightfully shorter than Howard, and Howard relishes these moments. Even here, on the farm, Vince favors heeled boots, which put them at a more equal height. But when he’s in his socks (or even more rarely, his bare feet), Howard can take advantage of the height difference between himself and his husband and press kisses on top of Vince’s head or forehead. Vince once told him that forehead kisses sucked the power right out of his brains, and Howard uses that knowledge to his advantage every chance he gets. 

Vince pours them both tea and they tuck into their toast. 

Vince watches Howard as he eats. Howard-watching has been his favorite pastime for decades, now, but with each passing year Howard gets more interesting to watch. He’s really settled into the farm life and is more comfortable inhabiting the space around him, Vince notices, than he’d ever been when they lived in the city. He isn’t as twitchy and nervous, isn’t always bloviating and blustering to make up for his own shortcomings. Howard has grown into himself, and Vince loves him now more than ever. 

His moustache is still kept immaculately, though it had grayed years ago. In the soft pink morning light, Howard’s silver hair is tinged all rosey, and Vince’s fingers itch to paint him. Howard’s face has aged, too, the lines around his lips and at the corners of his eyes deepening, but he’s still tall and broad and as gorgeous as ever in Vince’s mind. Howard has certainly gotten older, but he wears it well--he’s a man who peaks in attractiveness as he ages. 

It makes Vince feel a bit bad about himself. He can’t help feeling like he’s let himself go since they moved to the farm. He still dyes his hair, but he favors dark browns over the jet blacks he’d loved in London. He has no idea what the state of his natural hair was, but he’s terrified that it’s probably gray, too, and while Howard looks well distinguished, Vince is convinced he’d look like an old man-witch with gray hair. Age has chipped away his slim androgyny: though Vince is still slender, he’d filled out a bit, and wiry hair dusts his hands and arms, no longer rendering him “the confuser,” but definitely a man, albeit a man with eccentric tastes and a feathered hairstyle. 

Vince thinks Howard has gotten the worse end of the deal, ending up with a husband who’s clinging desperately to the vestiges of his rockstar youth, while Vince has won a dignified, noble-looking husband in the bargain.

“What?” asks Howard around a mouthful of toast. 

“Nothing,” says Vince, grinning down at his own piece of Nutella-spread toast. “Just thinking about a handsome guy I know.” 

“Oh?” says Howard, arching an eyebrow. “Who is this fellow?”

Vince takes a sip of his tea. “Just this well dignified type. You’d hate him.” 

“Bet he’s a pretentious tosser,” says Howard. Vince cackles, the loud laugh that Howard loves filling the small kitchen. 

“He is a bit,” replies Vince, still smiling widely, “but I love that old tosser.” Vince reaches his hand across the table and Howard places his hand in Vince’s, rubbing absently at the back of his hand and around the gold band on his ring finger. 

“That old tosser loves you, too,” mumbles Howard. 

“Shit off, that is well romantic,” says Vince, who manages to look coy after all these years. Howard gazes at their hands--Vince’s stubby nails, dirty because he refuses to wear gloves (“the animals don’t like ‘em, Howard”), his own longer fingers getting knobby and arthritic. He loves holding hands with Vince, loves the intimacy of it. It’s like speaking a silent language of their own, tracing delicate paths across Vince’s hands and up his wrists and playing with his fingers. 

He remembers, too, all the times they’d taken comfort in holding hands, even before they’d properly gotten together. As children, and sometimes at the Zooniverse, but especially after that night… 

_ Howard stopped to check his reflection in a darkened store window. He hadn’t had a haircut. He’d been butchered. His hair was weirdly flat, cut far shorter than he would have liked, and generally reminded him of some less-than-savory haircuts he’d had as a child.  _

_ He looked ridiculous. A grown man with a child’s haircut. And a moustache, which the barber had said was “thin and unruly,” and might he suggest some beard oil for it? _

_ Howard had grudgingly bought the beard oil. That, plus the tip, plus the cost of the cut had astounded him.  _

_ It had been ages since he’d had a proper haircut… probably at least since before he’d turned fifteen or sixteen. After that, he just figured his natural waves made his hair look shorter than it was and it grew slowly… until Vince had told him-- _

_ Howard shook his head as though physically shaking out memories of the Midnight Barber. No use getting maudlin now. It was a haircut. It would grow.  _

_ He started walking back to Lester’s when he heard a familiar voice coming from down a dark alleyway.  _

_ “No, don’t, please--I’ll do anyfing--” _

_ Vince.  _

_ Howard’s stopped and thought maybe he was imagining it on account of reminiscing about Vince. He listened and heard the voice again, unmistakably Vince. His heart leapt at the sound of Vince’s voice before his head could remind him it was a stupid thing to do. Howard started down the alley, adrenaline directing his course before fear could take over.  _

_ At the end of the alley, a group of three Chavs had cornered a human tangle of sharp angles with black hair that could only be Vince.  _

_ Howard didn’t assess the situation. He didn’t think of dying or what he had to give. He was, for once, a Man of Action as he swaggered up and stated, “You’ll want to be rethinking that, sirs.”  _

_ The scum scattered, obviously only interested in Vince as long as nobody caught them. Howard turned, the light of victory in his eyes dimming as he took in the sight of Vince.  _

_ Vince’s knees gave way and he crumpled to the ground, his prodigious nose bleeding. Howard knelt down beside Vince, scared to touch him, but rested a hand on his shoulder anyway.  _

_ “Vince?” he said softly.  _

_ Vince lifted his eyes, a genuine smile crossing his bloodied face. “‘Oward?” he asked, his gums alarmingly bloody. “Nice hair,” he said giggling. The laughter quickly turned to tears, and years of protecting Vince kicked up in Howard, as natural as animal instincts. _

_ “It’s okay, Vince,” said Howard. Beside him, Vince cried, tears streaming mascara tracks down his cheeks.  _

_ Vince grabbed onto Howard’s hand and held it tightly. “M’so sorry, Howard, I’m so, so sorry. S’all my fault, all of it, everything. How’d this happen, ‘oward? S’all my fault.”  _

_ Howard didn’t trust himself to speak so he just rubbed soothing circles over Vince’s bony shoulders, hoping to convey some comfort.  _

_ “We should go to A&E, just to have you checked out,” Howard said. Vince nodded, following along in too much shock, both at his attack and his sudden reunion with Howard, to argue too much. _

_ Roughly an hour later, they were back in Lester’s apartment, with a diagnosis of a bloody nose (no breaks) and scurvy due to poor diet. Howard had tutted over that--leave it to Vince to not eat anything but sweets for a month. Bone-tired, both Vince and Howard got cleaned up and changed into something more comfortable. Howard gave Vince the sofa and slept on the floor beside him.  _

_ The next morning, in the light of day when they had both rested and everything seemed less awful, Howard and Vince talked. _

_ “How’s Leroy?” Howard asked over their morning tea.  _

_ “Oh, Leroy booted me two weeks ago,” said Vince, trying to sound casual. “He got a new girlfriend who didn’t like having a squatter live on their couch, so I moved in with this DJ from a well underground club. You’ve probably never even heard of it.”  _

_ “How could you be so stupid, Vince, going and living with a perfect stranger?” Howard asked angrily.  _

_ “Well, s’not like I had a lot of options, Howard,” said Vince sourly. “Leroy kicked me out, you chucked me, where else was I s’posed to go?” _

_ “I didn’t chuck you, Vince,” said Howard, even though he knew he had.  _

_ “You did,” retorted Vince. “You just left, Howard. You left again.”  _

_ They sat in silence, Howard trying to ignore the tears in Vince’s eyes. Vince sniffed and continued. “You left me, Howard. On the island. You left me for Milky Joe. Then you left again when you tried to become a bin man.” His voice was cracking with unshed tears, and finally they let loose. “And then you--you left for Denmark. And when you came back I thought it was for good, but… oh, Howard,” Vince cried. Crying hurt his nose, and his neck was stiff from sleeping on an unfamiliar couch. Everything hurt.  _

_ “Vince,” said Howard, his fury abating at the site of Vince’s tears. “You know you’re not blameless, either. What about the time you ate my record? Or sold me out to a crack-addicted fox for a cape?” _

_ “I’m sorry, Howard, I’m so, so sorry. I behaved like a total tit, and I’m so sorry about everything, about the time I ate your weetabix and the time I left my straighteners plugged in overnight and when I lied about the binbags and--”  _

_ “It’s alright, little man,” said Howard, gesturing for Vince to stop. He didn’t need a full reckoning of all Vince’s sins; he wasn’t a priest. “I suppose we both acted stupidly.”  _

_ Vince nodded sadly and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. It came away bloody, shocking Howard into action. He went and got more tissues, a glass of water, and some paracetamol, which he brought back to Vince. Vince leaned into Howard and cried himself out, a month’s worth of despair coming up to the surface.  _

_ Howard did his best to comfort his best friend--muttering comforting nonsense, petting Vince’s hair, rubbing soothing circles on his back--but comfort had never been Howard’s strong suit. He sat next to Vince on the sofa and put his arm around Vince’s shoulders, alarmed at how bony he felt. _

_ “Are you hungry? You need to eat something with actual nutrients, Vince, you’re like skin and bones. And your gums are bleeding and it’s a bit scary.”  _

_ “Yeah, alright,” acceded Vince. “Hey, Howard?”  _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ “Who did that to your hair?”  _

_ Howard felt a bubble burst inside him and he worried it was going to come out of his mouth as a sob. But it came out as a laugh instead. Pretty soon Vince was laughing, too, holding his side but unable to stop.  _

_ That night, Howard slept on the floor beside the sofa again, only this time, they fell asleep hands entwined, short fingers tangled in longer ones, and for the first time in months, Vince and Howard slept well.  _


	4. Vegetables and Hay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amid his garden where things are plentiful, Howard remembers leaner times.

**VEGETABLES AND HAY**

Howard is out back in the garden, his clever fingers deftly wresting the vegetables from their hiding places beneath the soil. He and Vince have quite a good crop garden going--carrots, peas, potatoes, an assortment of greens, loads of berries… Howard smiles to himself, remembering Vince coming into the house, his lips and fingertips stained purple after the first of the blueberries had ripened. 

It hadn’t always been so easy to get Vince to eat properly. Vince had maintained a diet composed mainly of sugar and alcohol in the brief time they’d been apart, and it had taken Howard ages to get him back to a state even slightly resembling “well nourished.” The months immediately following their reunion had been hard. While they now had the means and space to grow their own delicious food, back then, every cent had to be carefully counted, which meant foregoing any unnecessary luxuries in order to afford things that might put some nutrients back into Vince’s ravaged body. 

_ A month and a half was too long, Howard figured, to crash on someone’s couch. He and Vince decided to get out of the city, away from the place which had paid them with so much heartache and trauma. Howard paid Lester a hundred Euros for his trouble, bade him goodbye, and packed up the van.  _

_ Vince’s eyes welled at the sight of the familiar van he’d helped decorate, as well as the black and white sofa stuffed into the back. Howard’s heart cracked for poor Vince, who had never had a steady, reliable home until they’d moved to the Dalston flat--Vince had spent so much time and energy turning the flat above the shop into their home, and he’d been heartbroken when the police had ruined it.  _

_ “We’ve got the sofa and some art and each other,” said Howard softly, reaching over to rub Vince’s back reassuringly. “We’ll make a new home somewhere. Someday.”  _

_ Vince looked up at Howard, wiping the tears from his eyes. “Promise?”  _

_ “Promise,” replied Howard.  _

_ They got as far as Chatham before realizing the sputtering van was in no condition to go much further, so they’d found the cheapest room available and set up camp there. _

_ Shortly after arriving in Chatham, Vince and Howard applied for jobs at “Pets 4 Less”, a small pet shop in town. The owner seemed impressed by their experience as zookeepers, and promptly hired them both. Unfortunately, he wasn’t impressed enough to pay them decently, and though they were making regular wages, it still wasn’t enough money to do any real saving. As it was, they barely scraped by; though they were able to pay the rent, they often had to skimp on other necessities, especially groceries (Howard hated not having enough money in his grocery budget to always buy fresh produce and make sure Vince was getting enough vitamins--the scurvy was unnerving). There was certainly no extra to put away for a better place to live.  _

_ The first few days were hard--the new flat was pretty awful. It had one room with twin beds,, a small kitchenette, a tiny, rusted out bathroom, and no living or dining space. Furthermore, it was right beside the train tracks and the train ran all hours of the night, rattling the windows and whistling them awake.  _

_ There were nights that Howard would wake up to find Vince unexpectedly curled around him in the twin bed. Other nights they fell asleep holding hands across the bedside table in the dark, just wanting the reassurance that they weren’t alone, as the train whistled by, its shrill noises and bright lights interrupting their restless sleep.  _

_ It seemed that with Naboo gone, the magic had gone out of their lives. There were no more bubblegum monsters or magic carpet rides, only a buggy flat and day-old bread and too many of Howard’s cigarette butts on the front stoop.  _

_ Their new boss was called Gary, a hulking brute of a man that neither Vince nor Howard thought had any business working with animals. He chewed tobacco and spat the brown liquid into little polystyrene cups which he littered throughout the shop. They made Vince’s stomach turn, but Howard stepped up and disposed of them whenever he saw them.  _

_ The animals were kept in cramped cages, so whenever Gary was out (which was often), Vince would let them out after clearly explaining the rules of Playtime. “No slithering under stuff where we can’t get you out. No escape attempts--you think it’s bad in here, you have no idea how rough it is out there! And absolutely no chewing the merchandise. If you get peckish, let me know, me ‘n Howard’ll fix you up something.”  _

_ This was usually met with a snide remark about how much the animals disliked Howard, but Vince told them all that Howard was a forest wizard who appeared gruff and small-eyed, but was really kind and gentle, and they must be kind to him lest they incur some bad juju.  _

_ The animals’ dull eyes and lackluster coats began to shine under the ex-zookeepers’ protective care. The only problem was that when it came time to make a sale, none of the animals wanted to leave their caregivers. Vince would try and convince them that they were going to a better place, with steady diets and loving pats and ear scritches. He’d tell them how lucky they were to be going to a real home, which is what all wild beasts want more than anything else. _

_ Howard overheard this speech once, given to a lop-eared bunny, and was so miserable for the rest of the day that Vince thought he must be ill. Howard felt sick with guilt for not having given Vince, his favorite wild beast of all, a proper home. It had been his job, ever since they were children, to look out for himself and Vince. And he’d failed them both. Miserably. _

_ Howard spent Sundays going over the pitifully tight budget, making a grocery list for the week, and chain smoking on the front step of their shitty little room, trying to ignore the cockroaches that scuttled by. _

_ Life went on. Howard peeled carrots and sliced oranges for Vince and spent any time he wasn’t working moping and feeling absolutely miserable. Vince stole napkins and copy paper from the shop and sketched out ideas for a dream house and a new line of glam-rock inspired home decor, in between making sure that Howard ate enough instead of insisting he wasn’t hungry so Vince could have more. They both worked, and got no closer whatsoever to their goal of moving on. They didn’t have time for music or painting or adventures, not now.  _

_ One Wednesday, the boys were working in the shop when a dangerous-looking man stalked in. He walked straight over to a pen where a little white Westie puppy Vince had started calling Major Tom was kept. The man bent over the cage and grabbed Major Tom by the scruff of the neck, examining him.  _

_ Howard watched, panic rising like bile in his stomach. He looked over at Vince, who was clenching and unclenching his fists in nervous anger.  _

_ “Please, Vince,” begged the puppy with its small, puppy voice that only Vince could hear, its eyes wide and rolling in fear. “The man smells bad, like hurt and pain. He hurts animals.” Vince listened to the pleas that only he could hear, and took action. _

_ “Hi there,” said Vince, stalking up to the man. Howard watched fearfully--Vince was so small and delicate next to the hulking brute. “Regret to inform you that dog’s not for sale.”  _

_ “It’s in the shop, ain’t it?” asked the man. “I come here for a dog, and you have one.”  _

_ “Please, Vince, no,” whined Major Tom.  _

_ “Sorry, but he’s recovering from… South Ghanian mange,” supplied Vince.  _

_ The man dropped Major Tom back into the pen. The little dog yelped as it hit the floor and cowered in the back of its pen. Howard’s heart bled for the puppy, and he strode forward, completely unsure of what he was going to do, but wanting to be there in case something happened to either Vince or the dog.  _

_ “Listen,” said the man, jabbing a meaty finger into Vince’s chest, “I want the dog. I’ve got money. This is a pet store. So you sell me the goods you’re paid to peddle, and we won’t have a problem, you poof.”  _

_ “Sir,” interjected Howard. It was bad enough to watch the man bully a puppy, but Howard couldn’t stand by while he insulted Vince. “I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to leave. We have a strict policy against harassing staff.”  _

_ “Oh, you do, do you?” The man grimaced at Howard menacingly, gesturing around the shop. “I don’t see no signs.”  _

_ “Well, it’s staff policy. We’re not to tolerate any bad behavior or harassment, and we’re within our rights to ask you to leave,” Howard answered. On one level, he was terrified, his insides quivering like jelly. On another level, he didn’t care a single bit. What was the worst that could happen? His spirit was broken--what would be a few broken bones to match? _

_ “Oh, it’s in the policy, is it?” said the man, rolling up his sleeves.  _

_ “Howard,” said Vince, quietly. Howard met his eyes. Vince’s were wide with fear and dark with anger as he shook his head, discouraging Howard from engaging the man. _

_ “You, shut up,” said the man, turning to Vince.  _

_ “That’s enough, sir,” said Howard sharply. “If you don’t leave, I shall have to call the police.” He was angry now, and though he was loath to admit it, feeling anger was better than feeling nothing.  _

_ “Can’t call the coppers if you’re knocked out,” said the man, grinning as he cracked his knuckles.  _

_ “All this over a dog?” asked Howard with a sardonic, mirthless laugh.  _

_ “Oh, I don’t care about the dog no more. This is personal,” said the man, forming a fist. “Not about to be pushed around by a couple of--” _

_ “What’s going on here?” asked Gary, reentering from the back of the store.  _

_ “Your poofter employees won’t sell me an animal,” said the man. “This is a pet shop, innit?” _

_ “Get out of here,” growled Gary under his breath as he pushed Howard out of the way. Major Tom had begun whimpering again.  _

_ “This man is harassing Vince,” Howard said, hoping Gary would hear him out.  _

_ “Shut up, Moon,” growled Gary before plastering on his customer service smile. “Sir, I apologize. I’m sure we can work something out.”  _

_ “I don’t want to spend my money here anyway,” said the man, turning to leave. “Run by a bunch of filthy buggers.” The man threw open the door violently. “Go fuck yourselves!” he yelled as an uncreative parting shot, and stormed down the street.  _

_ Vince was down on the floor, comforting the trembling puppy when Gary turned to them, his fat face turning puce in rage.  _

_ “You two,” he said. “You close tonight, and you don’t come back.”  _

_ “You’re sacking us?” asked Vince incredulously.  _

_ “Damn right I am,” answered Gary. “No severance, no reference. You leave your keys and nametags on the counter when you go, and don’t ever let me see your sorry faces around here again.”  _

_ He stomped to the back room, leaving Vince nearly in tears, and Howard feeling weak as the adrenaline rush wore off. Vince cradled Major Tom close to his chest for the rest of the day, trying to soothe the tiny terrier’s constant cries and apologies for being bad and causing trouble. Howard wished he could be so comforted.  _

_ At the end of the shift, Vince and Howard left their keys on the counter. Vince, however, sneaked the spare key from underneath the till into his tiny jeans pockets.  _

_ Late that night, with no one but the moon to see, a slight figure with great hair unlocked the door to Pets 4 Less. He opened every cage, crate, and pen, and on his way out, slid the spare key back under the till. A parade of animals followed him back to a terrible flat beside the railroad tracks. _

_ The following morning, Gary arrived to an empty store. He blamed the angry customer, thinking it was an act of vengeance, never suspecting his two ex-employees of running him out of business.  _

_ Vince spent the next few days getting the animals settled into new homes, with nice children or lonely pensioners or at local schools where they’d be adored and cared for the rest of their days. Grudgingly, Howard put up with this scheme, but mostly because if anyone deserved terrible things, Gary did.  _

Howard stands up from the garden, stretching his back where he knows it’ll ache from being bent over the soil for so long. A familiar yipping sound bounds up the path towards him. 

“Major Tom,” greets Howard. The dog wags its tail, tongue lolling happily out the side of its mouth. Howard leans down and pets the dog’s head. Major Tom is older now, plumper and calmer, but still as sweet and devoted to Vince and Howard for saving him as he’d been that day so many years ago. 


	5. Scarf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we learn how, exactly, Vince and Howard came to own a farm.

**THE SCARF**

Early in the afternoon, it begins to rain, so Howard and Vince are stuck inside the farmhouse. Afternoon showers are common, but they usually don’t last long, just long enough to cool the air and make a lot of mud. Vince is busy sewing a new line of fingerless gloves for the farmer’s market while Howard cleans the newly-harvested vegetables in the kitchen sink. Bowie plays on the turntable in the living room. 

When the vegetables are clean, Howard sets them aside to dry and fixes tea for them both. Vince still takes way too many sugars in his, but damned if he doesn’t seem to gain weight. He’s heavier now than he was when they came to the farm, certainly, but he’s still slim and willowy. 

Howard sets the cup and saucer beside Vince at the sewing table. “Cheers, Howard,” says Vince without looking up from his work. Howard ruffles his hair affectionately and sits down to read _Wind, Sand, and Stars._ He notices, from his vantage point on the old black and white sofa, a scarf peeking out of Vince’s sewing basket. Rising, he goes to the basket and plucks out the filmy fabric, holding it aloft to study in the light. 

Vince notices and turns around. “Oh,” he says, “I wondered where that’d gone.” He grins sadly at the scarf, a hand reaching out for the end fluttering from Howard’s fingers. Years have faded the print a little. 

“You’re not going to chop it up, are you?” asks Howard. 

“No,” says Vince softly. “Not this one. I might wear it again, though.” Howard nods and gives the scarf back to Vince before settling down once again with his book. 

_“Awright, Howard,” greeted Vince smiling. Howard looked up from staring into the middle distance and mustered a half-hearted grin._

_“How was it?” he asked._

_“Great! The shop is well cool and Ms. Bijou is really nice.”_

_“Good, I’m glad to hear it,” replied Howard, and he was._

_Vince slid off his Chelsea boots and hung a new, cloud-printed scarf on the hook by the door. Howard wanted to berate him, wanted to demand why Vince thought it was okay to buy accessories when they were clearly stretched so thin for cash at the moment, but he found he was too apathetic to really get into it. “That new?” he asked._

_“Oh,” said Vince, going pigeon-toed and biting his thumb nail nervously. “Honest, Howard, it was only 1 Euro, Ms. Bijou gave it to me on a deep discount because it hasn’t sold yet, and I didn’t think you’d mind, but--”_

_“No, Vince,” said Howard lazily. “It looks nice. Looks like spring.”_

_Vince’s face split into a smile. “Cheers, Howard.” He ran the filmy fabric lovingly through his fingers. “Ms. Bijou said I get a 30% off employee discount, and first pick of the stuff that comes in,” Vince gushed happily. “But I told her I couldn’t afford much, on account of us trying to save up for a better house and things, so I won’t come home with new stuff each shift, I promise.”_

_It wasn’t a promise he’d keep, but sometimes his “new stuff” was just the stuff Ms. Bijou refused to consign. Oftentimes, the owners didn’t want their discarded items back, so Vince offered to take care of donating them. He did donate most of them, but he salvaged lots of little bright bits for fabric scraps and lone earrings or buttons he could turn into something else. He was up late into the night sketching ideas for new clothing pieces and accessories, for “whenever I can get a sewing machine again, it’ll be genius, Howard.”_

_Since they’d lost their jobs at the pet shop, Vince’s income at the vintage shop sustained them. Howard spent the days moping, shambling along to internet cafes to halfheartedly search for jobs. He was more depressed than he’d ever been, even letting his moustache go wild and his beard grow in. Vince had tried to trim him up, but Howard had fought him off with a litany of “don’t touch me’s.”_

_Vince was touchier now than he’d possibly ever been, maybe even more so than during the zoo times. Lingering touches on the shoulder, holding hands at night, standing so close in the kitchen their bodies were flush with each other._

_Howard couldn’t stand it, couldn’t stand the way that Vince made his body react even after all these years. He chalked Vince’s tactility up to the small size of the flat and tried not to read into it too deeply._

_Howard’s days became a blur of walking Major Tom, staring at the ceiling, preparing the best meals he could on a shite budget, and hating his life._

_All the while, Vince worked hard at Bijou’s, charming the customers and making great sales. Ms. Bijou, the widowed shop owner, fell absolutely in love with him. She invited him and Howard around for Sunday dinner one night, insisting that Vince was too thin and she was too lonely._

_Vince knew how Howard was with unfamiliar social situations. Still, the tempting offer of a proper Sunday roast was too good to pass up._

_Vince opened the door to their flat, and saw Howard lying on the bed, a book opened beside him, staring off into space. Major Tom lept up from where he’d been napping on Howard’s feet and jumped up, happily greeting Vince._

_“All right, Howard?” said Vince._

_“Mmm,” replied Howard._

_Vince tried to brace himself. It was obvious Howard was in a black mood--most of Howard’s moods were black nowadays. Sometimes they’d lift to a dark blue, but that wasn’t much better. Vince scooped up Major Tom, who licked kisses onto Vince’s cheeks._

_“So, Howard,” said Vince conversationally as he sat on his bed, slipping off his boots. “Ms. Bijou, my boss, she invited us round for dinner tonight.”_

_Howard looked over at Vince with a truly tragic look in his eye._

_“I thought maybe--”_

_“No,” Howard interrupted flatly._

_“Well…” said Vince, trying to arrange his argument carefully, “she said she’d make us a Sunday roast. I didn’t think you’d turn your nose up at that.”_

_“So, we need charity now, is that it, Vince?” snapped Howard with more emotion than Vince had heard from him since they’d been sacked from the pet shop._

_“I don’t think it’s charity, Howard. She’s just a nice lady who lives alone, and wants to share a meal with us is all,” Vince said calmly, not rising to the bait of an argument with Howard. They couldn’t afford to fight, not living in such close quarters and nowhere to go for privacy._

_To Vince’s surprise, Howard gave up the fight as soon as he’d started it. His eyes glazed over and he returned his gaze to the ceiling. “What time?” he sighed._

_“Six,” said Vince. “Gives us about an hour to clean up.”_

_Forty minutes later, Howard was still on the couch, having made no effort to begin “cleaning up.” Vince had thought Howard should at least go shower, but there was no time for that now. Vince had finished in the bathroom ages ago himself, changing out of the clothes he’d worn to work and into something fresh, re-styling his hair, and doing his best to wash up while leaving the shower free for Howard, who hadn’t availed himself of it._

_Major Tom came into the bathroom and sat at Vince’s feet. “You know,” said the dog, “that Howard-dad has the Bad Sadness.”_

_“I know,” whispered Vince in reply. “But I don’t know what to do for him.”_

_“Love him,” answered Major Tom. “That’s what I do while you’re at work, Vince-dad. I don’t know if it helps him, but it can’t hurt him.”_

_“You’re a good boy, Major Tom,” said Vince, patting the little dog on the head. He put the finishing touches on his hair and eyeliner, and re-entered the flat to find Howard frozen like a statue in place on his bed._

_Major Tom wagged his tail, looking between his Howard-dad and his Vince-dad, hoping Vince-dad would take the hint._

_Vince approached slowly, his boot heels clicking on the peeling linoleum floor. He sat on Howard’s bed, next to Howard, and realized how bad things were when Howard didn’t even say, “don’t touch me.”_

_“Howard,” said Vince softly, using his zookeeper voice. “Howard, can I help you get ready?”_

_Howard flicked his eyes to Vince. They were the tiny brown eyes Vince loved, but they were cold and mournful, not full of their usual mischief and warmth. Vince reached out a hand and smoothed an unruly lock away from Howard’s forehead._

_That single gesture of kindness cracked something in Howard. With a shuddering sigh, he curled into Vince and rested his head on Vince’s lap while Vince stroked Howard’s back and wide shoulders, murmuring soothing nonsense. Sometimes, Vince dared to play with Howard’s hair, which had grown shaggy and unkempt, as Howard just lay there, allowing himself to be comforted._

_He sat up, and Vince embraced him, holding him tight. Howard was always surprised by Vince’s strength. He dressed like a woman and looked like a twiglet, but he was wiry, scrappy. Strong. Howard inhaled the familiar scent of Vince’s hair product as Vince continued to rub soothing circles on Howard’s back._

_“S’gonna be alright, Howard,” said Vince. “Summat always turns up, you’ll see.”_

_“That was before,” said Howard, his voice raw with emotion. “There’s no magic now, Vince.”_

_“Sure there is,” said Vince. “I got a magical job at a magical boutique, and now we’re gonna go have dinner with the magical proprietress.”_

_Howard sniffed, willing the tears in his eyes to go back down his throat from wherever they’d come... Vince smoothed Howard’s hair away again, saying, “And not only that, we have the magical Major Tom with us. He’s a monkey genius, only he’s not a monkey, he’s a terrier, but he’s magical and dead smart.” Major Tom yipped for emphasis._

_“What about the magical cockroaches?” asked Howard, his voice watery._

_“They’re on their way to the magical cockroach queen,” answered Vince. “She lives in a castle made of a Kojak VHS box, and grants wishes to the cockroaches who complete quests for her.”_

_Howard shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Vince grinned softly._

_Sometimes, there weren’t any words to say. But Howard felt a bit better._

_“Come on,” said Vince, dragging Howard up from the bed and toward the bathroom by the hand. “Wash up. I’ll find you something not-horrible to wear.”_

_Howard didn’t have it in him to reply that he was a man of remarkably good taste and timeless fashion, but he did quirk his lips into a half-grin, and that was a start._

_They arrived at Ms. Bijou’s flat only five minutes late, having stopped to buy a bottle of wine so they wouldn’t show up empty-handed._

_“You must be Howard,” she said, embracing Howard warmly. “Vince has said so much about you! My husband was a great lover of jazz, so you must tell me all about your favorite artists.”_

_Howard almost felt better at Ms. Bijou’s. They talked about jazz and listened to Ms. Bijou talk about her travels and her late husband and concerts she’d been to. They had delicious roast potatoes and vegetables, gravy and mint sauce, Yorkshire puddings, and a torte for afters. Howard and Vince ate their fill, not knowing when they’d have such good food again._

_“This has been the best night I’ve had in ages,” sighed Ms. Bijou. “Thank you, my dear boys.”_

_“Thank you,” said Vince. “We never had a boss who had us over for dinner before.”_

_Before it grew impolitely late, Vince and Howard grabbed their coats and got ready to leave. Ms. Bijou kissed Vince on each cheek with a cheery, “See you tomorrow, love.” Before Howard could leave, she hugged him close, and thanked him for coming. “It was like having my Hugh back for a night. Promise you’ll come back soon, love.”_

_Howard simply nodded. The sentiment made him too sad to reply._

_The boys walked home in silence, their bellies full, their hearts mended with a bit of motherly love, and the moon shining down as they walked back. Even the flat seemed a bit kinder in the light of their pleasant evening._

_Of course, things went pear-shaped when Vince came home early from work barely a week later._

_Howard was lying on the bed, petting Major Tom and trying to figure out what to cook for the evening meal when Vince came in silently, hands shaking as he dumped his bag on the floor rather than hang it up on the hook. Howard knew then something was wrong, then noticed Vince was white as a sheet._

_“Vince?” said Howard, rising to meet Vince as he shut the door._

_Vince’s eyes filled with tears as he said, “Ms. Bijou is dead.”_

_Howard felt a rock sink in his stomach. But for the first time in weeks, he wasn’t thinking about himself. He was thinking of Vince._

_He grabbed Vince and held him close, and Vince let his tears out. Later, over a cup of tea, Vince and Howard sat knee to knee on their respective beds as Vince explained that the police had been at the shop when he’d arrived for work. They informed him that they had been notified by a neighbor that Ms. Bijou had passed in the night in her sleep. They were at the shop purely as a routine inspection, and to let her employee know not to expect her._

_“Will there be a service?” Howard asked sadly. Though he’d only met Ms. Bijou once, he did really like the old woman._

_“I doubt it,” said Vince. “All her family and her husband are buried in France. I expect they’ll send her back there.”_

_“Did she have kids?” asked Howard._

_“No,” said Vince, shaking his head sadly. “I think she might have a sister or something. But Howard, what’re we going to do?”_

_“Don’t worry about that, little man,” said Howard, trying to be comforting._

_“I do worry about it!” said Vince, his voice going shrill. “I worry all the time. Did you know I found a gray hair two weeks ago, Howard? I nearly died from the shock! But I didn’t say anything because I knew whatever bad stuff I was feeling weren’t nothing compared to how you’re feeling. I worry all the time, Howard. I worry I’ll come and you won’t be here. I worry you’ll hurt yourself, or run away and leave me again. I worry about not having enough money for food and Major Tom, and I worry we won’t make the rent and get kicked out of this shithole, and--”_

_“Vince,” interrupted Howard. He reached out and took Vince’s hands. “Vince…”_

_Vince grabbed his hands back and sunk his head into them, his skinny shoulders shuddering with silent tears._

_“S’so hard, Howard, with Naboo gone,” he choked out around the tightness in his throat._

_“I know, little man. I know.” Howard moved to Vince’s bed and sat beside him, throwing an arm around Vince’s shoulders and holding him close._

_Neither man spoke for a while. Howard was feeling guilty about causing Vince so much worry, and Vince was worried that his unexpected outburst would send Howard spiraling._

_They sat together on the bed, holding each other like life preservers, til the sun began to set._

_They slept fitfully that night, Vince overcome with sadness about Ms. Bijou’s passing, and both of them anxious with the knowledge that they’d lost their only source of income. Vince figured he could probably find another shop to work in, but probably not one where the boss asked you and your… whatever Howard was, over for Sunday dinner._

_Howard wondered if he should go to a doctor, even though every fiber of his northern being revolted against the idea of mental health on principle. If it made Vince feel better, though, he’d do it--Vince had taken care of him for too long while he wallowed in self-pity. It was time for him to get out of bed and do something. Time to be a Man of Action, and help Vince take care of them._

_The following day, a thick envelope was delivered to Vince. Upon opening it, he realized it was from Ms. Bijou’s solicitors. Since she had no children and no living husband, she had recently had her will amended and left everything--her home, the shop, any money she had--to Vince. To her sister, she left money from the sale of her car and some life insurance money to cover the funeral costs. Everything else passed to Vince._

_Everything except her late husband’s collection of jazz records, which she bequeathed to Howard._

_Howard and Vince met with the solicitor, who said he’d handle the sale of the shop and Ms. Bijou’s home. As it was, she’d left Vince her life’s savings-- a tidy sum of 53,000 Euros. Vince had no idea that Ms. Bijou had that kind of money--she just seemed like an eccentric old lady with weird taste in clothing._

_“Howard,” said Vince, as they left the solicitor’s office. “D’you know what this means?”_

_“Hmm?” asked Howard. He was caught in a vortex of thoughts about how unfair it was that Vince fell ass backwards into money and had managed to become the hero in this situation. He, Howard, was supposed to be the Man of Action, and yet Vince, through his good looks, charm, and luck, had won again._

_“We can leave,” said Vince, breathless with excitement. “We can get the hell out of here. We don’t have to live in that rusty, buggy shit hole any longer. Once the money’s been transferred to our accounts, we can repair the van and go someplace else!”_

_“Your account,” corrected Howard. Vince felt the old anger flare up in his blood. He wanted to make a cutting remark about how Howard hadn’t done fuck all to help them since getting sacked from the pet shop, but he took a deep breath. Life was easier when he didn’t fight with Howard._

_“Well, yes,” he replied calmly. “But once it’s there, we can get the van repaired and find a new place to live. Someplace with a proper yard so Major Tom can go outside.”_

_Howard nodded, glumly watching the sidewalk as they made their way back to the flat._

_Vince chattered on happily all that night and into the next day as he accompanied Howard to have the van repaired. He made plans for them to check out of their room and into a hotel, someplace dog-friendly, where they could rest, reset, and plan their next moves while letting someone else do the tidying up. Howard just “mmm-ed” and went along with everything Vince said, torn between being too apathetic to get worked up and not wanting to say something cutting and hurtful that he’d regret later._

_Two days later, Vince and Howard and their earthly possessions were packed in the van as Howard drove them to Yorkshire. Since coming to London, Vince had never left the city, and he was excited to see the place where Howard had grown up. Vince watched out the window as they drove out of the urban greyness of the city and into the greener lands of the north. His stomach was full of butterflies--for the first time since Naboo had disappeared, he was excited about the future. He checked his bank account on his mobile obsessively, making sure the money hadn’t gone somewhere or the solicitor realized it had been a big mistake, but it wasn’t. The money stayed._

_They checked into a small hotel where the room was a suite. They each had their own queen-sized bed, and the bathroom was large and sprawling. There was a small kitchenette off to the side, but Vince was more than ready to pay other people to cook for them for a change. Howard needed a break._

_Vince had been puzzling over what exactly Howard needed, but he never reached a solid answer. Howard always appeared to need space, but he would also probably benefit from a hug. He needed quiet, but the quiet got to be too depressing. He was always huffing and sighing as though he was carrying a massive burden, but Vince was the one who’d been working seven days a week to support them, and Vince was the one paying for everything now. Vince couldn’t work out what to do about Howard, and even Major Tom’s advice of “just love him” was hard to follow._

_Howard, for his part, made being lovable impossible. He snapped at Vince over every little thing, and was being particularly temperamental and moody. One morning he came out of the large bathroom and flung a towel on Vince’s bed._

_“Stop leaving your towels on the bloody floor,” he spat._

_“Howard,” said Vince, looking up from a real estate magazine, “you leave your towels on the floor all the time.”_

_“That’s different!” said Howard, his voice rising angrily. “You think just because someone hands you a sum of money you can lounge around all of a sudden like a spoiled little princeling.”_

_Vince got up from the bed and stood to face Howard--he’d been trying so hard not to fight with Howard, but after everything he, Vince, had done for them over the past two months, Howard had the audacity to call him spoiled? Blood rushed in his ears as he asked, “What’re you on about?”_

_“You,” spat Howard. “Just throwing money at all of your problems because oh, some more will come along, I suppose. You’re Vince Noir, everything works out wonderfully for you, doesn’t it?”_

_“Is that what this is about?” Vince asked, breathing through his nose in an attempt to calm his rising temper. “Howard, I’ve done everything for you--for us. I never pushed you to get another job, I worked seven days a week--”_

_“And you’re the bloody hero, yes, we know,” finished Howard stroppily. “Precious Vince always comes out on top, doesn’t he. And Howard? The faceless bloke with tiny rapist’s eyes?”_

_“Howard,” said Vince, “that’s all shit Naboo and Bollo said and they’ve been gone for ages. I never--”_

_“You’re loving it, though, aren’t you. Playing the hero, saving poor, old, worthless Howard. Admit it.”_

_“I would never,” said Vince, hurt coloring his words. “And if that’s what you think, Howard, I think that says more about you than it does me.” Vince slipped his boots on and grabbed his coat._

_“Where are you going?” asked Howard miserably._

_“Out,” Vince answered vaguely, leaving Howard and Major Tom alone in the room._

_Howard looked at the dog, who gave a plaintive little whine. “Not you, too, please,” Howard begged. “I can’t stand it if you hate me, too.”_

_The white dog came and nuzzled against Howard’s leg affectionately. Howard couldn’t understand him the way Vince could, but Major Tom tried very hard to make Howard understand that he wasn’t hated._

_For the first time since Naboo left, Howard cried. He didn’t have many tears, being a strong, manly man of the Northern persuasion, but the ones he had, he let out._

_Major Tom hopped on the bed and licked Howard’s hand, letting him know he wasn’t alone._

_“I’ve buggered it all up, haven’t I?” Howard asked the dog. Major Tom just looked right back at him._

_Howard sighed. He knew Vince was right. Howard’s mood had nothing to do with Vince and everything to do with Howard. He’d been feeling inadequate and depressed, and he was taking it out on Vince. Vince, who really had done everything for the last few months. Vince, who’d gone from lazing about and strolling into the Nabootique at half noon with ridiculous tall tales to excuse his tardiness, to working seven days a week just to make sure they had a roof over their heads and food to eat, all while Howard was too depressed to do anything._

_Howard realized two things. The first was that he might need help of a professional persuasion. He couldn’t keep living this way, feeling so miserable and useless and hopeless, not when it hurt Vince so much. The second was that maybe life wasn’t a competition. It wasn’t a sprint, it was a relay. Maybe he didn’t need to come in first place or be the hero or compete against Vince. Maybe it was enough that he participate, do his part, and be part of the team rather than the sole winner. He’d tagged Vince in to run the last leg. It was his turn, now, to run the next bit._

_When Vince returned, Howard had tidied up the room, ordered supper, and walked the dog. He’d also circled three places in the real estate magazine for them to go look at the next day._

_“I’m sorry, Vince,” he said. “I’ve been… a complete arse.”_

_Vince gave a sad smile. “I know, Howard. Look, I know it’s been hard. I know that. But things are better now, yeah? And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think I’m a hero or nothing. If anything, Ms. Bijou’s the hero for leaving us the money.”_

_“We’re a team,” said Howard. The words sounded stupid out loud, but he was pleasantly surprised when Vince reached over and took his hand._

_“Yeah,” Vince said, smiling softly. “We’re a team. It’s not you versus me. It’s you ‘n me versus the world. Always has been.”_

_The following day, they drove by one of the houses on their list but decided that maybe living in the suburbs wasn’t for them. The tidy little lawns and fenced gardens made Vince feel itchy, and even Howard had to admit the idea of nosy neighbors made him extremely uncomfortable._

_They were on their way to the second place on their list when Vince suddenly shouted, “Howard, stop the van!”_

_Howard slammed on the brakes, terrified that he’d hit an animal or that Vince was going to be ill. “What? What is it?” he asked frantically._

_Vince’s eyes were wide, his jaw hanging open as he pointed out the window. Situated between some low hills, quite a distance off the main road, was a pink farmhouse._

_“What?” repeated Howard._

_“S’for sale,” whispered Vince. Howard looked again. Sure enough, a placard out front read, “FOR SALE,” with a phone number listed. “Howard, please, can we go look at it?”_

_Howard’s first thought was “the place looks like it’s falling apart,” followed quickly by “I’m not living in a ramshackle bubblegum house.” But Vince was so excited, childlike wonder filling his eyes for the first time in… too long, Howard decided. He nodded, then shifted the van into “drive” and followed the winding road._

_They got out and looked at the house. The fence was crumbling in places and needed repair. A few of the window shutters looked like they were hanging on for dear life, and the whole thing was in desperate need of a good scrub and a coat of paint._

_Vince and Howard circled the outside of the house. The wraparound porch was lovely, Howard agreed… he imagined himself sitting in a rocking chair, reading, then shook the image out of his head. They weren’t going to buy this place._

_Vince was scampering down the lane, excitedly talking about the stables and horses and all sorts of nonsense. Howard stood in the lane, breathing in the country air. The sun peeked out from behind a cloud, and he closed his eyes, feeling warm, clean… and for the first time in months, at peace._

_His mind was made up._

_Vince chattered excitedly about how “genius” being farmers would be, and Howard dialed the phone number from the placard into his mobile. The real estate agent said they’d be happy to show them the house as soon as possible, and within the hour, Vince and Howard were inside the farmhouse._

_The inside had been kept up well. It wasn’t fashionable, but it was clean and serviceable. Howard could practically see the wheels turning in Vince’s head, ideas bursting forth like popcorn in his mind._

_“Why is it so cheap?” Howard asked when the agent told them the price._

_“The couple who own it are anxious to be rid of it. Eccentric Americans, came and built this traditionally Yankee-style farmhouse… nobody here wants it. They’ve come down on the price quite a few times already,” the agent explained. “They’ve retired and moved to the city to be closer to their children--this place was far too much for them to keep up.”_

_Howard and Vince nodded. “Is it all right if we discuss it tonight and get back to you tomorrow?” Howard asked._

_“Of course!” answered the agent._

_Vince and Howard drove back to the hotel in silence. Each was consumed by their own thoughts. Buying a farm was certainly more than either had had in mind. They’d expected to move to a flat or a small house somewhere, but a whole farm…_

_Howard wondered if they could afford it. Vince knew they could, because the rest of the inheritance money had been posted to his account and for the first time in his life, Vince had six figures to his name. He’d need to talk with Howard about how much they could spend on renovating it. And of course, he wanted animals. Loads of animals._

_Howard imagined himself again in a rocking chair, peaceful, quiet. Happy._

_“We should do it,” he said softly._

_“What?” Vince looked incredulous._

_“Tell me how much money we have, and I’ll work it out tonight. But we should buy that farm.”_

_“Y’mean that, Howard?” asked Vince. His voice had gone high and breathy, and Howard glanced over at him across the van. His shiny lips were parted, his cheeks were flushed with excitement, and Howard thought he looked beautiful. In that moment, Vince could have asked Howard to buy a private island and he would have said yes._

_They arrived at the hotel parking lot, and Howard put the van into park, turning to look at Vince._

_“Yes,” said Howard. “I think it’d be nice. Living on a farm.”_

_The next thing he knew, arms were around his neck and he had a faceful of Vince’s hair, the sweet smell of his shampoo tickling his nose._

_“Oh, thank you, Howard. Thank you!” Vince breathed, his breath warm against Howard’s neck. Howard held onto Vince and for the first time in what felt like weeks, smiled._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chose the book _Wind, Sand, and Stars_ for Howard to read based on [this](https://twitter.com/julian_barratt/status/1247489789500235779) post by Julian Barratt. 
> 
> Also, Bijou's Boutique is named after a shop nearby, but sadly, they don't sell genius vintage clothes.


	6. Henhouse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories of making the farm their own.

**HENHOUSE**

Once the afternoon shower lets up, Vince and Howard go back to work. Vince slides on his wellies, not wanting to ruin his good boots in the mud. Today, he has to work on mucking the stables. Eliza the Cow and the miniature horse need fresh straw. Howard needs to check on the bees, but first, there’s a hole in the chicken wire that needs repairing. 

The chickens are really nothing but trouble, Howard muses, grabbing a stool on his way to the coop so he doesn’t have to squat in the mud. Chickens are loud, fussy, and always getting into trouble of some kind or another. He’s not even sure  _ how  _ the hole appeared in the wire, but here it is. And of course, it’s his job to fix it. 

He thinks back to when they built the coop. The chickens had been the first animals they’d purchased, thinking they’d be the easiest. They were dead wrong. If they’d known then what they know now, they would have started off with the pony. It was basically just a large dog that liked to follow them around, easygoing and sweet-natured. Not like the chickens, which clucked angrily when Howard started working on their home. 

He and Vince had built the coop from scratch in the summer heat. Vince had worn his ridiculous skinny jeans, but a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and he’d looked so good… slim, muscular, sweaty… 

Howard smiled to himself, remembering their early days on the farm.

_ For the first few weeks on the farm, the boys were simply glad to be out of the city. At night, they were lulled to sleep by the sounds of wind in the tree branches and crickets chirping, rather than drunk neighbors and trains running all hours of the night. _

_ Moving in had been so exciting. While the farmhouse was small and old, it was in decent shape. Any drafty bits were able to be patched up with a bit of Pollyfilla. There was a squeaky step on the staircase leading upstairs, where the bedrooms and bathrooms were. Howard had taken the largest, and Vince didn’t even complain. He desperately wanted Howard to be happy again, and if the larger room accomplished that goal, then Vince was willing to make the sacrifice.  _

_ Besides, Vince’s room had a window which overlooked the fields, and he liked that.  _

_ Howard had meticulously gone over every last cent of the money Ms. Bijou left them. It was quite a sum, and Howard routinely felt guilty that he had inherited such a tidy amout off a lady he’d only met once. He carefully set out a budget for home decor and repairs, knowing Vince would be too extravagant without boundaries. He then calculated what it would cost to get some livestock, maybe grow some veg, and even had some left over to get bees. The hobby of beekeeping had always fascinated Howard--he could give it a proper go out here in the country. This still left them a little bit of money to stash away for a rainy day, though Howard fervently hoped those were behind them now.  _

_ He and Vince bought furniture from a secondhand shop about half an hour away. In all the years they’d lived together, they’d never had separate rooms. Howard found he wasn’t quite sure what to do with his own room now that he had one. Besides, he had the master bedroom with en suite bathroom, and a lovely bay window overlooking the front of the farm (and the crumbling old wagon, lost to time that Vince insisted they leave as it was “well romantic”). It was overwhelming, to have so much space and responsibility.  _

_ He frequently visited Vince’s room to see how he was doing. Vince was having a much better time of it. Vince was a nester, and he loved to make any space--from his locker at school to the zookeeper’s hut to the flat to this farmhouse--his space.  _

_ “All right?” asked Vince. Howard nodded. “I found some fabric that I think will be perfect for curtains,” Vince rattled. “I’ll need to go back to that shop, see if they have a sewing machine. I could make some for you, too, if you come up with some fabric in aggressive muffin,” Vince offered, smiling.  _

_ Vince looked… well. Vince had started sleeping better as soon as they were out of the city, his vivid, colorful dreams returning, punctuated by deep snores through his beaky nose. His scurvy was better, thanks to Howard’s careful cooking, and the fresh air of the country and constant physical work had put some color back in his cheeks. Howard smiled back, pleased that Vince was doing so much better.  _

_ Howard, however, was not. The guilt he felt was overwhelming--the guilt of what had happened to Vince while they were apart, the guilt of having lost his job and never gotten another thus forcing Vince to be the sole provider, the guilt of robbing Ms. Bijou, the guilt of having been a bad friend to Vince… it was a lot. Howard smoked too many cigarettes, and didn’t sleep well at night; during the day he was tired and quiet. It troubled Vince.  _

_ “Major Tom,” Vince asked the terrier one day when Howard was downstairs working on the kitchen, “is Howard going to be alright?” _

_ “Howard-dad still has the Bad Sadness,” said Major Tom. “Vince-dad makes it better, but sometimes, there has to be a vet.” Vince thought about this. He figured Howard needed therapy, had figured it for years, but it was a delicate subject he wasn’t sure how to broach.  _

_ Luckily, one morning, Howard broached it himself.  _

_ “I need help,” Howard mumbled into his coffee mug.  _

_ “All right,” said Vince. “What are we doing? Did you fix that screen door? Or is it that squeaky step, I hate that--”  _

_ “No,” interrupted Howard. “I mean. I need. Help. Like a psychiatrist or something.” Major Tom came and sat on Howard’s foot, as though his meager weight would keep him in place to finish the hard conversation.  _

_ “Oh,” said Vince, nodding.  _

_ “It’s just,” Howard started, fidgeting with his teaspoon. “It’s just, you took care of us back there, and. And I did nothing. I couldn’t. And I thought it was because of how. Of how shit it all was. But now we’ve had a windfall, and it’s still bad. I just. I just can’t make my mind stop, Vince.”  _

_ “S’alright, Howard,” said Vince nodding. He really wanted to grab Howard’s hands, but he knew that most times, when Howard was upset, touch didn’t make it better. “You know I’m here for you, whatever happens. I think...I think it’s really good for you to maybe talk to someone. S’well brave.”  _

_ “Yeah?” asked Howard, meeting Vince’s eyes for the first time that morning. He shouldn’t have been worried. Vince’s eyes were blue and familiar and full of love.  _

_ “Yeah,” answered Vince. “I’ll be glad to find someone or go with or wait in the van, or whatever you need. I’m…” his voice drifted off, suddenly feeling embarrassed. “I’m proud of you, Howard.”  _

_ Howard’s heart nearly broke hearing the words. It’s what he’d always wanted--to make Vince proud, to be Vince’s hero. He smiled back his tears, and knew he’d made the right choice.  _

_ Six weeks later, the farmhouse was unrecognizable, and in a way, so were its tenants. Vince was thriving on the fresh air, and good food, and the joy of a purpose in life. Howard was speaking with his therapist and had even begun taking meds for his depression He was sleeping through the night again--deep, healing sleep. Sometimes Vince even caught Howard singing snatches of jazz scat under his breath. Usually, this would have given Vince fits, but now, it made him feel bubbly inside. _

_ The farmhouse had a fresh coat of paint (in a turquoise shade called Azure, which Howard felt was too gaudy but Vince said was “well cool”), no more squeaky hinges or broken fences, and a lovely little vegetable patch growing out back. Vince’s room was decorated in a myriad of colors and fabrics, his strange paintings somehow tying it all together. Howard’s room was a beige oasis--tidy, organized, soothing. At least, it appeared tidy until one looked under the bed at the utter chaos of mess Howard had accumulated. It was his “to be organized later” pile, he told himself.  _

_ Vince had found an old sewing machine at the secondhand shop and gotten it back into working order, churning out new window coverings for every window in the house. None of them matched--Vince claimed each window had its own personality and needed its own unique little outfit, and Howard thought it was too sweet to argue over.  _

_ Howard had bought a turntable and was enjoying going through Hugh Bijou’s record collection. Vince got a bit hivey if he listened too long, but he was so glad to see Howard slipping into jazz trances, snapping his fingers with a small grin playing over his lips. It was worth the rash to see Howard happy again.  _

_ Major Tom alternated between sleeping with Vince or sleeping with Howard. He’d make up his mind arbitrarily and patter behind them into their rooms as they closed the door for the night. Happily, he’d curl up at the foot of Howard’s bed, giving him lots of space but letting him know he was there by resting his head on Howard’s foot. With Vince, he’d cuddle right up and get held like a stuffed animal, Vince’s beaky nose snuffling into his white fur. It was a good trade, he thought. He liked the farmhouse, too.  _

_ Eventually, Vince and Howard decided to get some chickens. They figured this was the easiest way to ease into farm life… what could be difficult about gathering eggs? _

_ They researched coop designs and Howard had to reign Vince in, reminding him that they were building it themselves. They settled on something small and simple, confident they could work it out.  _

_ It was summer, and the afternoons got warm. Vince still traipsed around the farm in leopard-print drainpipes and boots, a bandana tied around his head like Axl Rose. Howard scoffed and teased him, but only good-naturedly. If he was completely honest with himself, something he’d been working on lately, he’d admit that enjoyed looking at Vince. Vince had developed lean muscles from the good food and hard work, but still retained his pretty hair and face. The Confuser, indeed.  _

_ They worked from morning til night on the chicken coop. Vince got frustrated with the measurements and maths, and Howard got impatient with Vince’s incessant chattering. Eventually, they worked out a system wherein Howard made Vince his “apprentice,” and they pretended they were doing coop surgery. Howard would say, “spanner,” and Vince would plop it into his outstretched hand. When Howard successfully finished part of the coop, Vince would fawn over him in a high, affected voice, cooing, “Doctor! You saved him!” Howard chuckled, Vince laughed, and in time, the coop was built.  _

_ Vince enjoyed the coop building, too, because sometimes in the hot afternoon Howard would shuck his shirt, his broad shoulders and muscled back on display. Vince would wipe the sweat from his brow, and he knew it wasn’t only the heat of summer making him feel so hot.  _

_ Vince had painted the coop outlandish colors and illustrated it with his own nightmarish farm cartoons while joking that he and Howard, as people who now cared for chickens, were “chicken tenders.” _

_ Howard was annoyed by the chickens, but Vince was fond of their flock and loved chatting with their birds. He was able to find out why some of the hens weren’t laying (too little sun, or that one mean hen, Lydia, who was trying to shake up the pecking order) and spent a lot of time making sure conditions were just right.  _

_ Howard tended the vegetables. The vitamin D and fresh air doing wonders for his mood; he was no longer hounded by his guilt. It was merely a shadow that crept along the periphery sometimes, and, with the help of therapy and medication, he was now equipped to deal with it.  _

_ A few months later, when they were buying feed at the shop, the store owner told them about a miniature horse that needed a home. Its family had moved to the city, leaving the horse high and dry. Vince came over all moon-eyed, and Howard knew there was no point arguing. They were going to get a pony.  _

_ The pony was old, but not ancient. A sweet-tempered little thing with gentle brown eyes and a soft nicker, both boys had fallen in love with her pretty instantly. They both decided to call it Bijou.  _

_ Bijou lived in the stables, which were meant for proper-sized horses, but the size disparity made them both laugh. Bijou lived like a queen in her massive stall. Howard had lowered the trough so she could actually reach it, and the little pony’s eyes and coat began to gleam beneath the loving hands of her new owners. Bijou took to following Vince around the farm as he went from the coop to the stables to the garden to check on all his creatures, his favorite creature being Howard. _

_ One day, all the chickens refused to come out of the coop at all. Vince was terrified that maybe there was a fox or some other predator scaring them, but when he asked, they just said, “ _ He is here _.”  _

_ Vince squashed down the fear in his stomach, worrying what “he” might be. He squared his shoulders and went back to the farmhouse.  _

_ “Howard,” he said nervously. “There’s something scaring the chickens. They won’t tell me what it is, but they keep saying ‘he is here.’”  _

_ “Who’s here?” asked Howard from the kitchen, where he was still tidying up after breakfast.  _

_ “I don’t know,” answered Vince, the tension obvious in his voice. “What do you think? Maybe a fox? A wolf? Or a poacher?” _

_ “Who’s going to poach chickens, Vince?” asked Howard.  _

_ “I don’t know, but will you come with me and look?” Vince was getting shrill and panicky.  _

_ Howard wiped his hands dry on a towel. “Do you want me to?”  _

_ “Yes,” Vince answered quickly, his eyes wide. Howard nodded and the pair made their way back out towards the chicken coop. Howard whistled once, and Major Tom came running, eagerly following on his masters’ heels. _

_ Howard, Vince, and the white terrier stalked around the back of the farmhouse, carefully trying to keep their footfalls silent. Major Tom sniffed the ground like he was scenting something, but offered up nothing useful. Vince crept along behind Howard, standing far closer than was advisable given Howard’s requirements for personal space, but Howard was big and strong and broad, and would protect Vince from whatever “he” was.  _

_ They turned the corner, eyeing the back porch. Nothing was there.  _

_ A preliminary sweep of the area revealed nothing, but foxes, as both Vince and Howard knew, could be sly.  _

_ Howard took a quiet step forward. Vince followed. Howard stepped again. This time, Vince held on to Howard’s elbow, not really grasping it, just touching it, as though being reassured that he wasn’t out here looking for the mystery assailant alone.  _

_ Howard’s first instinct was to turn around and snap at him. Even if it was a fox, it was not as if a fox posed much threat to a man, especially if the man in question could bloody talk to animals. But Howard didn’t. Warmth was bubbling in his stomach--he liked this. It had been ages since he’d had a chance to protect Vince as a Man of Action, and now, Vince was holding on to him, wide-eyed and breathless in fear, and Howard was, he hated to admit, kind of getting off on it.  _

_ Both their thoughts were interrupted by an earsplitting “HONK!” that set both their teeth rattling.  _

_ Major Tom dashed forward, barking. Howard followed, Vince bringing up the rear.  _

_ There, in the yard of the chicken coop, standing protectively by the feed trays, was a massive goose.  _

_ “HONK!” cried the goose.  _

_ “What?” asked Vince.  _

_ Howard couldn’t help the laugh that exploded forth. He pinched his nose in his hands and cackled--all this over a bloody goose!  _

_ Major Tom kept barking, and the goose kept honking back. Vince understood both of them, but none of it was very polite.  _

_ “Oi,” said Vince to the goose. “What you doing here?” _

_ “HONK,” said the goose, which meant “FOOD.”  _

_ “Lydia! Etta! Is this what you’re afraid of?” Vince asked, calling into the henhouse.  _

_ Frightened clucks emanated from within, which Vince understood to be a scared chanting of  _ “Him. Him. Him.” __

_ “This is him?” Vince confirmed.  _

_ “ _ Him. Him. Him, _ ” answered the chickens.  _

_ Vince rolled his eyes as he straightened and saw Howard still doubled over in a fit of giggles over the whole situation.  _

_ “You’re no help at all,” Vince cried in exasperation. Poor Howard laughed even harder. Vince wanted to be peeved, but it was good--so, so good to hear and see Howard laugh again. Really laugh, with his shoulders shaking and his tiny eyes squeezed shut.  _

_ Vince approached the goose, who told him a loud, grumpy tale about getting lost on migration and being hungry. Vince informed the goose he could stay, but he couldn’t terrorize the chickens. He could live in the stall next to Bijou if he needed a place to stay, and eat with the chickens but needed to share. Then Vince had to explain to the goose what “sharing” meant. _

_ Howard and Vince named the goose Bruce, and Bruce was the grumpiest, meanest animal on the farm. He terrorized the chickens, teased Major Tom, and bit at Vince’s ankles. For all that, he loved Howard. Vince later realized it was because Howard had been laughing during his first encounter with Bruce, which Bruce thought was a kind of human honk. Bruce tolerated Vince, but he liked Howard, making him the first animal on the farm (aside from Major Tom) to do so.  _

_ When Howard tended the vegetables, Bruce stood on the periphery of the garden watching. When Howard went to the barn to muck Bijou’s stall, Bruce followed, honking every so often at Howard. Whenever Howard went back inside the house, Bruce tried to follow him, but Major Tom would growl and send Bruce back outside.  _

_ Vince didn’t understand it, and was a little miffed that there was one animal on the farm who hadn’t absolutely fallen in love with him, but he figured Howard needed a friend out here, too. Besides himself and Major Tom.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The goose incident is 100% based on [these events.](https://olderthannetfic.tumblr.com/post/184617677374/kedreeva-amkrii-brokuto-koutarous-mom)


	7. Honey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honey is sweet, and so is life.

**HONEY**

Howard has converted the formal dining room into his honey room. He’s set up a table and lined the room with shelves, filling them with supplies to get the honey from the combs into jars. The shelves are full of golden jars, ranging from a light yellow to deep amber, depending on the different varieties (wildflower and lavender arere his two bestsellers, though come winter, he sells quite a few jars of cinnamon honey as well). Everything in the honey room is well-ordered and organized, like Stationery Village, only there’s a purpose to it all this time. 

Howard likes the honey room. It’s dark, cool, and full of the fruits of his labor. Howard and his bees. It’s spartan--scrubbed wood floors (he mops frequently, as he dislikes the sticky feeling of honey on the bottom of his shoes), organized shelves. It’s a good space. He’s going over the week’s special orders, gathering the different jars and setting them out on the table to box up and take to the market on Saturday, remembering how lucky he is to be able to do  _ this  _ for a living.

  
  


_ Life continued on the farm. Vince started visiting the local farmer’s market--it had been his idea to start selling eggs, along with any hats, scarves, and accessories he’d begun making in his spare time. Howard came along, mostly for the change of scenery, but also because he enjoyed shopping there. It was good to get local baked goods and see what his neighbors were up to. “Neighbors” being a loose term. Houses were few and far between in this rural region, and seeing people once a week was enough for Howard.  _

_ Their organic eggs sold well, and in the winter, lots of people purchased scarves and gloves from Vince. Eventually, Vince convinced Howard to buy a horse trailer so they could bring Bijou to the market. They’d asked her if she would like to do pony rides and she assented happily--she liked children. Howard started selling their surplus vegetables, and together they started making a nice little profit off the farm.  _

_ Before they knew it, the first year had come and gone. The seasons shifted one into the next, golden summer turning into scarlet fall, turning to gray winter, which melted into green spring. Vince and Howard settled into a routine. They were sleeping well, working hard, eating properly for the first time since the bust on the Nabootique, and they both looked better than they had in years.  _

_ This fact wasn’t lost on either of the boys.  _

_ Vince loved catching Howard inspecting vegetables, smiling softly to himself when he had a particularly good crop. He loved the way Howard’s hair had grown a little longer than usual, liked how it curled when he sweated. Vince loved the smell of him--like fresh air and man. Howard’s fingers were nimble enough for effortlessly working vegetables from their beds beneath the soil, and he’d even started playing guitar again at night. Vince loved all of this, appreciated it with the artist’s eye, and sketched entire notebooks full of Howard.  _

_ Howard, for his part, loved this version of Vince best of all the Vinces he’d known. School Vince had been scrappy, talkative, popular with others but devoted to Howard. He didn’t care a bit for schoolwork, he’d only bothered for the social activities. Zoo Vince had worshipped Howard, but he was still all candyfloss and empty thoughts. London Vince had been terrible--Howard didn’t think about the London times much if he could help it. He knew that he’d been awful in London, too, but Vince had become a cruel stranger. Howard pushed the thoughts from his mind. Chatham Vince had been so hard-working, so caring… Vince had grown up a bit then. But Farm Vince… Farm Vince attended to Howard with the eagerness of School Vince, laughed with the ease of Zoo Vince, and worked just as hard as Chatham Vince, but he was happy doing it.  _

_ Howard would watch Vince talk with the animals, soothing the fussy chickens or brushing little Bijou’s coat and singing to her, and his heart clenched. One afternoon, while he was watching Vince take care of Bijou, he realized all of a sudden, like being hit by a flying satsuma, that he was in love with Vince. He watched Vince joking with the little pony, carefully plaiting her tail, and realized,  _ I love him. 

_ Howard had always known that he was alone in the world aside from Vince, and had been aware that he loved the other man, at least on some level. But for the first time, possibly ever, Howard was thinking clearly. The gray cloud that followed him around like his own shadow had been parted, and he realized that he really, truly, loved Vince, in all the ways it was possible to love someone else.  _

_ And instead of panicking and worrying himself sick over it, Howard thought it was nice, and kept his secret to himself, to think about alone in the night times.  _

_ Vince, of course, had always loved Howard, and was only waiting for the right time to tell him. He’d loved Howard from childhood and had never stopped. Vince might have been shallow, but he had a good grasp on timing. He was impatient for things like dessert and new magazines, but understood the importance of waiting for just the right time for important things, like dyeing your hair black and telling your best mate you love him. And up until recently, Howard hadn’t been ready to love anyone else because he didn’t love himself. But now, this version of Howard… slightly older, slightly calmer, more at home with himself and the space he occupied… this Howard might be ready to be loved. Vince hated time, but he respected it, and knew he had to wait for just the right moment to tell Howard what he thought Howard might be ready to hear.  _

_ Somewhere along the line Howard decided to do something he’d always wanted to do: beekeeping. He bought all the necessary supplies and set up a plot a bit down the road from the farmhouse for his hives. Vince had cackled the first time Howard had shown off the beekeeping suit, but he’d secretly been pleased. This was something all for Howard, which was good. Vince talked to the animals and was really good at caring for them. They both worked in the garden, but Howard needed something that was  _ **_his_ ** _.  _

_ And Howard was good at it. He might not have had Vince’s gift for speaking to animals, but he found he understood bees. He liked their droning, their work ethic, their highly organized lifestyle. That was something Howard could understand, yes sir. He was silent and gentle, his movements slow and thorough, and he never treated the bees roughly or jerked in alarm when he was handling them. The bees liked their new keeper, and worked hard to make delicious honey for him. _

_ Vince’s opportunity to tell Howard how he felt came just as summer was fading to autumn. Howard had been up tending to the bees and hoping to get his first jar of honey while Vince was indoors, working on a new line of scarves and fingerless gloves for the farmers’ market, when he’d heard a low rumble of thunder. He stopped the sewing machine and knew he needed to double check that all the animals were sheltered--the sky had darkened alarmingly and he knew it would be bucketing down within half an hour.  _

_ Vince told the chickens to get back inside the coop and rest in their warm nests. Bruce the goose followed Vince out to the stables, where Vince draped a small blanket over Bijou’s back and gave her fresh hay and water, in case he didn’t make it back for her supper. Bruce grumbled his way into the adjacent stall, complaining under his beak that Howard still wasn’t home yet.  _

_ Vince closed the stable up snugly, and tried to look down the horizon--no sign of Howard. Anxiously, Vince bit his thumbnail and looked at the van. If only he could drive he could go pick up Howard and bring him home before the downpour. He thought about it, but images of he and Howard careening through the fields in the middle of a thunderstorm made him shiver. No, better to just hope Howard was on his way home already and would be back before too long.  _

_ Vince grabbed the laundry off the clothesline and hurried back into the house, busying himself with folding clothes and checking out the window every few seconds to see if Howard was coming home. Major Tom came and stood by him in the kitchen. “Don’t worry,” he told Vince, “Howard-dad is smart. He’ll be okay.”  _

_ “I know,” said Vince. “I just wish he wasn’t out there when the weather’s turning so bad.” The laundry was folded, and Vince set the kettle, knowing at least he could have tea ready for Howard. Before the kettle started to whistle, Vince heard heavy raindrops battering the roof of the farmhouse.  _

_ “Damn,” he muttered to himself, looking through the window, but it was useless. A thick curtain of rain obscured his view, but there was nothing for it, now--Howard would be drenched on his walk back from the hives.  _

_ Vince made the tea and had it ready, then thought he had better get everything ready for Howard’s sodden return home. Vince jogged up the stairs and started a bath for Howard, nice and hot, and added a little home-grown lavender oil to the water. Once the tub was full, he grabbed Howard’s fluffy garnet dressing gown and headed back downstairs to wait.  _

_ The rain showed no signs of stopping. A low rumble of thunder punctuated the rain that pattered upon the roof. Vince decided to light a fire, in case Howard was chilled. It hadn’t been a cold day, but with the sun gone, it might get chilly.  _

_ Vince had just gotten the logs crackling nicely when the back door slammed and Major Tom went running. Vince followed, and there was Howard--completely sodden and looking for all the world like a drowned fox.  _

_ “Oh, Howard,” fussed Vince. He helped Howard take off his soaked jacket, and helped Howard balance as he stepped out of his work boots.  _

_ “Came up out of nowhere,” grumbled Howard.  _

_ “I know,” said Vince. “I thought about coming in the van to get you but--” _

_ “No,” Howard cut him off. “You can’t drive. We’d almost certainly be dead.”  _

_ “Yeah,” said Vince. “S’what I figured.” _

_ “Vince, look,” said Howard, reaching into the pocket of his sodden jacket. He pulled out a small jar filled with liquid gold, eyeing it proudly.  _

_ “Honey?” asked Vince.  _

_ Howard just grinned and nodded. Vince laughed out loud. “Howard, well done! That is genius! I made tea, we can try it. Here’s your dressing gown,” he thrust the garment at Howard. “Take off your clothes and put it on, yeah? I’m gonna set these out on the porch to start drying.” Vince took the waterlogged boots and jacket and draped them over the rocking chairs that sat on the covered wraparound porch. They could be properly laundered and hung to dry later.  _

_ Vince waited a moment, giving Howard time to get out of his wet clothes. He tried not to imagine how good Howard looked, even if he was all dripping wet. It just made his hair well curly and his clothes were clinging to him, to those broad, muscled shoulders and-- _

_ A crack of thunder brought Vince back to the present. That was probably long enough for Howard to get out of his wet clothes. _

_ He reentered the house and Howard had left his clothes in a drenched pile by the door. There was no sight of Howard, so Vince took the clothes outside and draped them over the other chair.  _

_ When he came back inside, Howard was in the kitchen, pouring himself some tea. He looked… adorable, which was the only word Vince’s brain cell could supply. Wrapped up in his dressing gown, his hair damp and tousled and wavy, and he smelled divine--like Howard, only amplified by the underlying note of petrichor.  _

_ “Thanks for the tea,” said Howard as he spooned in some of the honey. He poured Vince a cup, and added a spoonful of honey to his, too. They both drank, eyes never parting.  _

_ “Howard,” said Vince. “That tastes  _ amazing.” 

_ Howard took another sip of tea, then smiled. The smile widened into a laugh. “It worked.”  _

_ “It did!” said Vince, throwing his arms around Howard without thinking. Howard hugged him back, and for a moment, Vince was lost. Howard was warm and solid, even if he was damp, and being held like this was… it was the best thing.  _

_ Howard made no move to pull away, just held Vince as the thunder rumbled outside. He slowly started to stroke Vince’s back, and suddenly, Vince wanted to cry. This was all he’d wanted, for years. He and Howard, happy, alone, together.  _

_ “I drew you a bath,” said Vince into Howard’s shoulder.  _

_ Howard pulled away to look at Vince, who looked flushed, and almost… sheepish.  _ Beautiful _ , supplied one of Howard’s many brain cells. Despite the weather, his hair was perfect, a little more floofy than usual from the static electricity in the air, but so sweet and delectable. And Vince had made tea and drawn a bath. It was almost… romantic.  _

_ “Thanks,” said Howard, his voice gravelly. He cleared his throat. “Better go get in before I catch my death.”  _

_ “Yeah,” said Vince with a little smile. Howard turned and started washing out his mug, but Vince rushed over. “Don’t worry, I got that.” He reached for the teacup and for a moment, their hands brushed. “Go take your bath before the water gets cold.” Vince grinned up at Howard through his long lashes, and Howard smiled down, his hands lingering over Vince’s on the teacup.  _

_ “Right,” said Howard, extricating himself and going upstairs. The bath was still warm and smelled delicious and Howard sunk in, letting the water warm him and relax his bound muscles.  _

_ His body relaxed, but Howard’s mind was whirring. He could practically smell the attraction on Vince. Was it possible that Vince reciprocated his feelings? Vince had been so much more helpful since Chatham, but this… this was like what lovers did for each other. Only, if they had been lovers, Vince might join him in the bath.  _

_ Howard was not averse to the idea.  _

_ Half an hour later, clean and warm, Howard joined Vince on the sofa in front of the roaring fire. The rain still poured down and the thunder still rumbled, but they were safe and warm inside their house. Vince was sketching and Howard was pretending to read, but he noticed the way Vince kept scooching closer and closer to him on the couch until they were pressed side to side. Vince’s body felt warm and solid against his own, and rather than wishing for more space, Howard found he liked it. _

_ “Hey, Howard,” started Vince. “Can I have some more honey? Straight out of the jar?” he asked.  _

_ Howard smiled. “Sure, little man.”  _

_ Vince hopped up and grabbed the honey and two spoons and brought them back to the couch. They each took a spoonful. Vince rolled his eyes up and made the most sinful noise.  _

_ “Mmm, Howard,” he sighed, “this is so good. So sweet.”  _

_ “It is,” agreed Howard, putting down his spoon to watch Vince. Vince met his eyes and teasingly licked the end of his spoon, never breaking eye contact with Howard.  _

_ Howard’s breath hitched.  _

_ “You tease,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. Vince licked an incisor playfully, grinning. Howard looked down at his own lap. “Thanks,” said Howard, his voice low, “for the tea and bath and all.”  _

_ “‘Course, Howard,” said Vince, finally laying down his spoon. “Didn’t want you to get sick or nothing.”  _

_ “Very thoughtful of you,” mumbled Howard. Christ, but Vince’s eyes were so wide and blue, a faint pink flush tinting his cheeks.  _

_ “S’what people do, when they look after each other. When they...” Vince trailed off and looked down into his lap.  _

_ “When they what?” prompted Howard, reaching out to cup Vince’s cheek. His heart was hammering in his chest and he was sure Vince could feel it, close as they were.  _

_ Vince met his eyes, fluttering up from beneath his lashes, smiling shyly a little at the corner of his mouth. “When--when they love each other.”  _

_ For a moment, neither man dared speak. Howard’s tiny brown eyes met Vince’s big blue ones, and realized that years of skirting around the issue were coming to a head. The logs crackled in the fireplace, the rain drummed on the roof, and Howard could only hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears.  _

_ “Do you?” he asked, his voice soft and high. “Love me?” _

_ Vince turned, facing Howard fully, and tangled a hand in Howard’s wavy hair. “‘Course I do, you muppet. Always have done.”  _

_ Howard couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t think of what to do. Vince’s hand felt so good in his hair, he wanted to grab him and press him close, but his muscles froze. His tongue froze. He couldn’t say or do anything-- _

_ And then, as if to silence the cacophony in Howard’s mind, Vince leaned forward and pressed his lips to Howard’s, and his mind emptied, blissfully vacant of anything but the sensation of Vince’s mouth against his own.  _

_ Vince’s lips were soft and dry and warm, and the pressure of them against Howard’s own was perfect. He’d forgotten--the kiss on the rooftop had happened nearly four years ago, and while that had been the single most sensual event of Howard’s life, this kiss rendered the rooftop kiss unmemorable. That kiss had been born out of panic and necessity. This kiss was years of longing and dancing around each other finally come to fruition, flavored sweetly by the honey they’d shared. _

_ Howard reached out and took Vince’s head in his hands, running his fingers through Vince’s soft hair. Vince hummed against Howard’s lips and Howard gasped at the sensation, opening his mouth ever so slightly. Vince took advantage and slid his tongue inside Howard’s mouth; this time, Howard groaned. Vince climbed into Howard’s lap and slotted himself against Howard’s chest, and even though the thunder was louder than ever and the rain was still coming down in buckets, it was still not loud enough to drown out the sound of his and Howard’s hearts thudding in their chests as they kissed again and again.  _

_ They kissed until the storm passed; time became inconsequential in the face of thunder, rain, shared breath, tangled limbs, and things working out the way they were always meant to. _

_ The next morning, Howard lazily petted Vince’s hair as they laid in bed. Farm life was incongruent with lazy mornings: animals needed to be fed, gardens and bees needed tending, but for now, Howard was content to lie in bed and soak in the warmth of Vince’s body lying next to his, skin on skin, and feeling, at last, like everything was perfectly right.  _

_ They added the honey to their wares, and Boosh Bees Honey became one of the best-selling items at the farmer’s market.  _


	8. Once Upon A Time...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the tale wraps up, but the story is just beginning.

**ONCE UPON A TIME...**

Howard presses Vince against the kitchen counter, rucking a hand up Vince’s shirt as their tongues tangle. He presses kisses to Vince’s throat, practiced lips knowing exactly which spot below Vince’s ear drives him crazy.

“Mmm, Howard,” Vince sighs, low and needy, as he tangles his hands in Howard’s graying curls and bucks his hips against Howard’s thigh. Vince’s cock is hot against Howard’s leg, barely contained by his obscenely skinny jeans as Vince reaches down to undo them, when a sudden, deafening “bang!” sounds from the living room. 

Vince shrieks and hits the floor, covering his head in an instinctual protective reflex. Howard bolts up and immediately grabs the cleaver from the knife block on the counter. 

“Howard?” whimpers Vince as he rises from the floor, his blue eyes wide in terror. 

Howard gestures at him to be quiet, and stalks as silently as he can from the kitchen to the living room. 

He walks slowly, holding his breath so as not to make any noise, straining his ears to try and hear any additional sounds. Nothing comes. 

Howard creeps silently to the corner separating the two rooms. He will have to confront whatever is invading his and Vince’s home in three… two… 

On one, Howard turns the corner, knife held aloft. 

Vince, frozen inside the kitchen, hears the knife clatter to the wood floor, hears the lisped exclamation of “Christy, is that you, Howard?” and a familiar, rumbling, ape-like laugh. 

He bounds for the living room, and stands stock still, shocked to see Naboo and Bollo looking disoriented and in the middle of the parlour. 

“Bollo! Naboo!” cries Vince, running to embrace the gorilla. Bollo hugs him back fiercely, wrapping Vince in his strong, hairy arms. 

“All right, Vince,” lisps Naboo, sounding emotionless as ever. 

Howard stands by watching the scene unfold, his mouth opening and closing again like a fish caught out of water. As the adrenaline of fear leaves his system, he’s left wondering if the entire scene was a dream. 

“Howard, what the hell happened to you?” asks Naboo, examining Howard’s face. 

“What do you mean?” Howard asks, cocking an eyebrow and running a hand through his hair. Also, hi.” 

“Harold old,” grunts Bollo from the center of the room where he was giving Vince a noogie. Vince is laughing but tears stream down his cheeks. 

“Christy, we missed you guys! What the hell happened? Where’ve you been?” asks Vince, his voice choking with tears. 

“Where have  _ we  _ been?” retorts Naboo. “Where’ve you been? What happened to the shop?” 

“The shop’s gone, Naboo,” answers Howard. 

“Well, where’d you put it?” asks Naboo, getting huffy. “I leave for three days and everything’s gone to--” 

“ _ Three days _ ?!” exclaim Howard and Vince. Bollo releases Vince and takes a good look at him. 

“Vince,” grunts Bollo, chucking Vince’s chin, “Precious Vince all grown up.” 

“Naboo,” says Vince softly, wiping tears from his eyes, “it’s been twelve years.” 

“Twelve years?” asks Naboo softly. He looks at Howard, then again at Vince, and shakes his head. “Bollo, roll me a fat one. I need to think.” 

The tiny shaman collapses on the familiar black and white sofa, the only thing from their original flat that Howard and Vince had taken with them. Howard props the front door open, knowing from experience that Vince hates smoking indoors, but also knowing that Vince would never tell Naboo that he couldn’t. 

“Twelve years?” Naboo asks in disbelief. “What year is it?” 

“2019,” answers Howard, taking a seat in the squashy armchair before the fire. 

“That explain why Harold so old,” grunts Bollo. 

“Yeah, enough with the old jokes, yeah? Me and Vince are the same age.” 

“Vince look beautiful, Harold look like jacket potato,” Bollo says. 

Poor Naboo stares into the middle distance, not even cracking a smile at Howard’s expense. 

“We must have been traveling further along the astral plane than we realized,” he says. He glances from Howard’s hands to Vince’s taking in their matching rings, disgust coloring his features. “Are… oh my God, are you two  _ married _ ?”

“Yes,” says Vince happily, sidling up next to Howard and taking his hand. “You missed our wedding, you berk.” 

“Fuck me,” says Naboo, dropping his head into hands. “What happened to the shop? What’ve we missed?” 

“Well,” says Howard. “It’s kind of a funny story…” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for sticking this out! I hope you enjoyed it. 
> 
> PS: [Click here](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Xwu6v-TrwN9ZLaTLbvMnhs-rnmz1-gXB/view) to see a moodboard I made.


End file.
